Not Like This
by roxierocks
Summary: And then he knew he was doing it again, that he was being selfish, because now he finally had Jack, all he could think about was Rose. DoctorJack DoctorRose angst. One shot.


Disclaimer: I don't own Dr Who. At all. Not even a little bit.

Warnings: hint of slash, hefty dose of angst.

A/ns: am jumping on the Doctor/Jack bandwagon, but with a healthy dollop of Rose, cos I just can't see the Doc as an exclusive guy when it comes to those two…credit to Jillybean for the story "Wheeler" which inspired this, because I so like the image of the Doctor moving between his relationship with Rose to one with Jack. Review and enjoy.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, he thought, as they lay, still and silent now, bodies entwined, limp and sated from their earlier activities.

They weren't supposed to end up like this, so near…yet so far.

Not like this.

He shifted, bending to kiss the smooth expanse of naked back, sprawled beneath twisted sheets. His lips hovered over the warm skin, his fingers unconsciously stroking a slim hip.

Not like this.

He slipped from the bed, wrapping himself in a dressing gown, flung haphazardly into a corner amidst their passionate desperation. It was soft, fluffy, picked out by her, a long, long time ago now, or so it seemed.

He cast another look at the sleeping figure in the bed, then silently opened the door, his footsteps echoing slightly along the hallways of the TARDIS, the floor beneath him cold and impersonal.

It was quieter now, without her. She used to laugh a lot, always seemed to be giggling and joking, talking a mile a minute about something or other. She was always so enthusiastic, her face lit up with the excitement of discovery.

It was calmer now, too.

Of course, they still scraped by with their lives every other day, still argued, voices bouncing around the control room in anger until they succumbed to the storm mounting within them, the anger lost in sudden fervour for each other. There was still excitement and danger and joy and pleasure, but it wasn't the same as it had been with her. There was no longer a frisson of anticipation when she walked into the control room, eager for whatever adventure was in store for her that day. It wasn't the same. They weren't the same, either of them.

He wasn't sure when it had began, any of it, when things had changed between them. They were happy, weren't they? The three of them?

He remembered being infatuated with her, he remembered desiring her. He remembered the way he would feel warm when she looked at him, her hand in his, her eyes dancing with pleasure.

He remembered that.

He remembered feeling responsible for her, the first time he'd felt responsible for anyone but himself in a long time, and surprisingly he'd liked the feeling; liked watching out for her, liked fearing for her life, liked being so close sometimes that it had almost hurt.

She had broke him, he knew that, instinctively.

And now she was gone.

He sat, vacant, on the floor of the control room, the steady, gentle hum of the TARDIS relaxing him, helping the memories to come, needling them from him in a way only the TARDIS ever could.

"You miss her."

He didn't move, didn't turn at the statement, wasn't even surprised that he was no longer alone.

Just as he knew, instinctively, that she had broken him, he also knew, instinctively, that he would come looking.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, sliding gently across the fluffy bathrobe, the movement soothing.

"Do you?" he asked softly.

"Of course."

Jack's other hand moved, slipping down his other shoulder, his lips pressing into the back of his neck.

They were silent for a long time, both of them, Jack crouched awkwardly on the cold floor, the Doctor leaning back into his touch, the TARDIS humming around them.

"Do you think we'll be alright?" Jack asked, and he sounded small, afraid, so very unlike Jack that the Doctor felt a spike of fear, deep in his gut, not unlike the one he had felt when she told him she was leaving, when she had asked him to let her go.

* * *

"I have to go back."

He stopped, his arm hanging comically in mid air, the sonic screwdriver dangling from his finger tips.

"Where?" he asked, though he was only playing dumb, because he knew, as soon as she said it, what she meant.

"I have to go back home," she said softly.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I want to."

He didn't reply to that, because what could he really say?

She had already said it all.

* * *

He turned now, shifting on the smooth floor, drawing Jack to him, his only link left to sanity.

"We'll be alright," he said, and he could tell from the look in Jack's eyes that he believed him, that he would always believe him, because he was the Doctor, and he made things right.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go back to bed."

He stood, and Jack stumbled slightly, his legs numb from crouching so long. The Doctor caught him, grinning as he pulled him close.

"You'll catch cold," he warned. Rose had said it to him, once. It had made him smile.

Jack smiled now, glancing down at the bed sheet he had wrapped around his body.

"You'll just have to keep me warm," he murmured, raising an eyebrow in blatant invitation.

They went back to the bedroom, and the Doctor stared up at the dark ceiling, Jack's head warm and comforting on his chest, the silence thick and heavy around them.

* * *

They were arguing that first time, like so many times since.

Jack had been insisting that he had the frequency wrong, he was always insisting that things were wrong, and the Doctor lost his rag, blew up in his face and then kissed him.

Afterwards, as they lay together on the floor, clothes half on-half off, he realised that he was greedy, plain and simple. He had Rose, could have her, if he wanted to, yet he still wanted Jack.

They didn't mention it to Rose, and he tired to think of it as an isolated incident, until it happened again, then again after that.

She knew something was different, but she didn't ask them about it, so they didn't tell.

He carried on as if nothing had happened.

He held her and flirted with her and comforted her and loved her.

But he needed something she couldn't give him, that he couldn't ask her for.

"Why Jack?" she asked one day, unable to disguise the hurt in her voice.

He didn't try to lie to her, didn't see the need, and smiled slightly.

"I don't know," he said, because how could he tell her that he wanted them both, but he would have never made the first move on her. That if only she'd stepped out first, he wouldn't have wasted a second taking her in his arms, but he couldn't be the one to do the stepping. That it was different with Jack, easier, and that Jack had just been there.

She nodded, absorbing his words, then took a deep breath, and slowly let it out.

"I have to go back," she said.

* * *

He wished, lying there with Jack's skin so warm against his own, that he had told her the truth; that he had always loved her, but that he needed more.

"Your thoughts are so loud I can hear them," Jack commented wryly.

"I can't believe she left us," he whispered.

And then he knew he was doing it again, that he was being selfish, because now he finally had Jack, all he could think about was Rose.

* * *

She turned to look at them, one more time, her face tear stained.

"I'm going to miss you," she said.

Jack put his arms around her, held her tightly, and the Doctor heard he whispered words against his ear.

"Take care of him."

Jack nodded, stepped back, behind the Doctor, and Rose stared at him, a slight smile on her face.

They didn't hug or kiss, just brushed hands, fingers entwining for the briefest of seconds before she pulled her hand away, wiping the tears from her face.

"Goodbye Doctor," she said.

Then, with tear free eyes and her head held high, Rose Tyler stepped back into her life.

* * *

"Do you think she thinks of us?" Jack asked.

"Of course," he replied, though, really, he didn't think so. If she wanted to think of them, she wouldn't have left them in the first place.

"Are we going to be alright?" Jack asked again, and the Doctor wanted to apologise, suddenly, for being so selfish, so greedy, for taking Jack and letting Rose break him and it still all not being enough.

Jack's hair was short, but soft. He didn't smell like her, flowery and feminine, he smelt like sweat and salt and young, unshakable confidence.

He wasn't her.

But when he had had her, all he'd wanted was him.

Not like this.

"Yes," he said now, his hand in Jack's short, soft hair gentle but firm, his nose buried in the crook of Jack's neck, drinking in his masculine scent.

"Yes, we'll be alright."

And maybe, one day, they would be.


End file.
